


The Suicide Club

by eringiles



Category: Sherlock (TV), Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:34:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1522994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eringiles/pseuds/eringiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events at the pool, Sherlock is desperate to get to the bottom of just exactly who Moriarty is and what game he is playing. Meanwhile, across London, Chandler and his team are also smarting from Moriarty’s games after he puts one of the team at risk. Now with deaths of the rich and famous on the rise in London, Chandler is determined to get a solved murder under his belt – he may need the help of Sherlock Holmes with this one though. If he knew who Sherlock Holmes was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CS_WhiteWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CS_WhiteWolf/gifts).



> Inspired by Robert Louis Stevenson's collection of short stories of the same name.

**The Morning After the Pool**

John was already up when Sherlock emerged from his bedroom the next morning. He didn’t look like he’d slept much, his face was wan and his head was propped up on his hand, elbow resting on the arm of his chair as he watched the news. 

‘…Scotland Yard have this morning confirmed that this was the fifth bomb threat within the last week, using targeted individuals that were kidnapped from the streets. Detective Inspector Lestrade released this statement at nine o’clock this morning…’

‘Fifth?’ Sherlock asked, hovering behind John’s chair, hoping he would decide to refresh his mug of tea, and make a fresh pot for Sherlock while he was at it.

‘Hmm?’ John half turned his head towards Sherlock, but he was still trying to intently listen to whatever bullshit was coming out of Lestrade’s mouth.

‘A woman, a man, the child and you. That makes four. I’m discounting the elderly woman as they’ve already passed that off as a gas leak. So who was the fifth?’

‘A DC who works in Whitechapel.’ John was rubbing at his right eye with his fingers now, blinking furiously as the news shifted to more mundane matters like the spending deficit. Sherlock was frowning as he watched John trying to drink from his already empty mug.

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’ John was struggling out of his chair now, yesterday’s events clearly catching up with him. He was trying to hide his limp as he went to refill the kettle.

‘Why the DC? Why didn’t I get a phone call? Surely he was part of the game.’ And that was it. Sherlock was off.

‘What was his name?’

‘They didn’t release his name, Sherlock.’

‘Where’s your phone, John?’ Sherlock was throwing cushions off of John’s chair. ‘Give me your phone.’

John nodded at the kitchen table where his phone was sat quite dangerously next to one of Sherlock’s chemical experiments. He was too tired to ask questions. He wouldn’t admit it to Sherlock, but yesterday’s bomb threat had left him shaken. 

‘Lestrade?’

Of course Sherlock would be on the phone to bloody Lestrade, asking questions about the DC, and whether there’d been a phone call, what time it had happened, where. John wandered off. He took his cup of tea with him upstairs. He’d only been up for a couple of hours, but having not slept the previous evening, and now starting to feel the shakiness of his adrenaline crash coming back full force John stumbled back to his bed to have a nap before Sherlock no doubt dragged him back out into the lethal game he was playing with Moriarty.

John was right, of course. Barely half an hour later Sherlock was yelling for him and that was the end of any hope of sleep for the next thirty-six hours. John was secretly grateful for the distraction, so that when he stumbled into bed on Wednesday morning at about 3am he was out like a light.

**

It was almost two weeks later before John finally learned the name of the DC in Whitechapel that suffered the same as John had at the hands of Moriarty. Sherlock was still using the wall behind the sofa as a case board of some sort, which frankly made a nice change from him shooting holes in it. John was staring at the picture of a young man with curly hair not dissimilar to Sherlock’s had it been shorter and tamed somewhat. Other photographs littered the wall containing the faces of the other victims that had suffered at the hands of Moriarty. John was thankful to note he had been left off the wall.

‘Is this your DC from Whitechapel then?’ John asked, indicating the wall with his mug. Sherlock didn’t answer, he was too engrossed with whatever he was doing in the kitchen. 

‘DC Emerson Kent.’ John read from the print out of the statement belonging to a DI Chandler that was pinned beneath the picture. ‘Sherlock, did Lestrade let you have this?’

There was still no reply, so John started to read the report Chandler had given about the events, which had led Kent to be the fifth privileged person that got to spend an evening strapped to a dangerous amount of explosives.

_I received a call to my office from Gregson of the armed response unit at 16.34 requesting my presence at Billingsgate Market after informing me that there was a ‘terrorist’ who would only converse with myself._

**

‘I wish to speak to DI Chandler.’

Kent. It was Kent.

Gregson greeted Chandler as he stepped out of the Range Rover. ‘He’s been repeating those words since we got here ten minutes ago. Caretaker says it was the only thing he said when we walked in.’

‘Jesus,’ Miles hissed between his teeth as he finally caught sight of the young DC. ‘Pull your snipers back, he’s not a threat.’

‘What do you mean he’s not a fucking threat? He’s got a hundred pounds of explosives strapped to his chest.’

‘He’s a police officer,’ Miles snapped. As Miles started an argument with the armed response team leader, Chandler only had eyes for Kent as he moved round the bonnet of the police car in front of him.

‘Hello, Boss.’ Kent stumbled over the words slightly as Chandler stepped out from behind the blockade without thinking.

‘Sir!’

‘Nice of you to show up.’

Chandler could hear armed police yelling behind him, but he didn’t care as he took another step towards Kent.

‘What’s this all about, Kent?’

‘We’re going to play a g-game.’ Kent’s voice was shaking, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, mouth dry sounding as he swallowed nervously.

Chandler could see that sweat was forming along Kent’s brow, his hair clinging to it, and as he took another step towards his youngest DC he noticed that he was wearing an earpiece.

‘Who am I speaking to?’

‘We’re going to play a game of Simon says.’ Kent closed his eyes briefly, like he was trying to hold back tears.

‘Simon? Is that your name?’

‘Simon says stop where you are.’

Chandler hesitated before he took another step.

‘Tut. Tut. We must play by the rules, DI Chandler.’ Kent’s voice was steady, but Chandler could see from his eyes that he was terrified of what the consequences might be if Chandler didn’t play the game. Chandler took a step back, if only to try and put some distance between himself and the look of utter terror on Kent’s face.

‘And what happens if I don’t play your game?’ Chandler’s eyes flicked to the rooftops around him, no doubt where the rest of the police officers were now looking. No doubt Miles was directing searches of the nearest buildings to try and find out where this sick bastard was observing them from. There was no answer, but it didn’t take much of an imagination to figure out that the blinking lights over the front of Kent’s chest would soon become a fireworks display if Chandler did not do as was asked of him.

‘Simon says tell DC Emerson Kent how you-‘ Kent paused, licked his lips and looked away from Chandler. ‘How you feel about him.’

‘Kent is a valued member of my team.’

‘Simon says tell the truth, DI Chandler.’

Chandler could almost hear the singsong tone that was implied, even beyond Kent’s frightened wobble.

‘He’s loyal. He’s resourceful and diligent. He’s trustworthy. He’s brave. He will follow but not blindly. He-’

‘Simon says leave your ego out of it,’ Kent’s voice hitched slightly and he stumbled over the next words, ‘all that matters to me is the truth.’

It took a moment for them to filter in, but Chandler could remember those same words escaping his own mouth not long ago. It had been during the Krays case and Kent and finally rejoined them at Ed’s after… everything. He’d seen the brief hurt look cross Kent’s face then, and it reflected back to him in Kent’s eyes now.

‘How long have you been watching us?’ He found himself asking, searching the rooftops as he spun around in a circle, hoping to see the grinning lunatic looking down at him from the chimney stacks. He could pick out well-positioned police officers on rooftops, clearly seeking out their mystery puppeteer, because that’s all he was right now. Pulling the strings on poor Kent and the rest of the police.

‘Simon says tell Emerson how you feel about him.’ Chandler looked back at Kent whose face was morphing into one of confusion as he parroted the words that were being whispered into his ear. ‘How you watch him when you think he’s not looking. How you cried when the Krays striped him. How guilty you felt when you blamed him for being the mole.’ Kent took a shuddering breath. ‘Out of everyone I really wish it hadn’t been you.’

Chandler took a step towards Kent, trying to close the distance between them. He felt sick looking at Kent standing there, trying to stop his knees from crumpling beneath him, adrenaline no doubt coursing through his veins in great waves, keeping him upright. He tried not to let the flashing lights of Kent’s loaned vest distract him, but it was hard not to see them as his eyes travelled back to Kent’s face that was a picture of horror. No doubt not just at the situation, but also at the words he was being forced to speak. But if there was ever a moment to speak the truth, to take some of his own advice, this was it.

‘You matter to me,’ Chandler said, finally addressing Kent for the first time rather than speaking about him in the third person. ‘You matter a great deal. I see so much of myself in you, but I don’t want you to become me. I want you to be better than me. I know you’ll be better than me.’ It was brief, but there was a small smile appeared on Kent’s lips before it was gone again, masked by the urgency of the situation and the voice that was grating in his ear.

Kent opened his mouth and closed it again, looking slightly like a fish out of water before he opened it to actually speak. ‘Tell him that you love him.’

‘I love you.’ There was barely a hesitation between the demand and the response. Chandler was still trying to edge towards Kent with the words, desperately wanted to charge right at him and rip the damned vest and earpiece from him.

Kent’s mouth fell open, unsure if the words spoken by Chandler were meant or if it was just another turn of the screw in Kent’s already frantically beating heart. It stuttered in fear as he heard that horrible Irish brogue in his ear again. But it wasn’t more words meant to hurt or provoke. It was a number. Tears were sliding down Kent’s face as the heavens opened and rain started to spatter down, flattening his hair to his already sweaty forehead.

‘Ten.’

‘No.’ It was barely a whisper, but something in Chandler’s heart jolted, taking all the breath from him as Kent let a shaky nine pass his lips.

‘GET BACK!’

Miles was screaming behind him, but Chandler only had eyes for Kent who was trying to get the numbers out through lips that were unwilling to co-ordinate. Kent stuttered past five as there was a flurry of activity from the surrounding area, voices raised, cars reversing, footsteps pounding on tarmac as Chandler tried to move towards Kent and someone tried to move towards Chandler.

Chandler was barely an arms length away when Kent swallowed and took a large breath as Chandler felt arms tugging at him to make him get back or get down. And in that breath Chandler knew Kent was saying goodbye, and sorry and that he understood. Every word he had been forced to speak was true.

‘One.’ It came out steady and there was a moment as Chandler’s knees hit the pavement, Miles beside him, where he thought he heard his name, but nothing apart from silence followed.

There was a pause as flashing blue lights strobed across the side of Billingsgate market and rain hammered onto the already saturated ground. As Chandler brought his head up to look, Kent was as shocked as he was.

Between parched lips he managed to choke out the words, ‘I didn’t say Simon Says.’

Chandler thought Kent’s legs would give out at that moment but he held strong. Armed response and the bomb disposal squad were looking round at each other in confusion as police officers on the street found their feet again, confused whether this was all over or not. Chandler saw Kent’s eyes go wide before he reached up to pull the earpiece from his ear. He didn’t move though. His breathing was coming out in ragged gasps as he uttered something that wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear over the rain.

‘He’s gone.’ Kent managed to repeat, voice bouncing off the walls of the buildings surrounding him. With those words everyone in the vicinity seemed to come to life again. The bomb squad were moving in, swarming Kent and detaching him from his deathly vest.

Kent was shaking visibly when Miles and Chandler reached him; the bomb squad already lost interest in him now he wasn’t carrying a potential threat on his back. Rain was sliding off of his nose, and joining the mixture of tears before being lost in the puddle at his feet. His shirt was starting to cling to him as the rain spattered against him now he was free from his explosive vest.

‘You’re okay now, Kent.’

Miles started to shrug out of his coat as Kent bent double, and Chandler stepped back just in time as Kent’s stomach heaved, bile mixing with the heady scent of fish that hung around the market. Miles draped his coat over Kent’s shoulders, before his hand dropped to rub between his shoulder blades.

‘You’re alright, son. You’re okay.’

Kent straightened up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as his eyes met Chandler’s. But Chandler was in almost as much shock as Kent, and his mouth wouldn’t open to say anything, not to even reassure Kent that his traumatic experience was now over.

‘Come on, love.’ Riley was there now, a blanket that she’d clearly stolen from the paramedics that were hanging back. ‘We’ll get you a cup of tea, yeah?’

She put an arm round Kent’s shoulders and started walking him away from the spot he’d been rooted to in terror for the last thirty minutes and the awaiting ambulance. Kent only managed one step before his legs gave out; adrenaline leaving him in a flood of exhaustion and both Miles and Riley were struggling to hold him up between them. Mansell was there too, trying to get a shoulder under one of Kent’s arms to help carry him to the ambulance.

Chandler looked back to the bomb that the squad were now taking apart with deft efficiency, rendering it no more harmful than an exploding chocolate bar before he followed his own team at a distance towards the ambulance. Riley had disappeared to no doubt fetch Kent a cup of sweet warm tea, while Miles and Mansell hovered helplessly by the entrance to the ambulance. Beyond them Chandler could see Kent sat on the trolley, a paramedic attaching a blood pressure cuff to his arm while she checked him over for other injuries that he had possibly attained during his kidnapping. Because the more Chandler thought about it that was what must have happened.

He had so many questions flitting through his brain now the danger had passed that he couldn’t get his thoughts in order.

‘You alright?’ Miles was looking up at Chandler, squinting through the rain at him.

‘What?’ Chandler frowned.

‘You look like you need your own shock blanket.’ Miles indicated Chandler’s hands that were fidgeting sporadically with the lid of his tiger balm before coming up to rub at his temples. Chandler managed a nod of assent as the leader of the bomb disposal squad approached them, half of his armour under his arm.

‘Thing was harmless. No more explosives in there than there is in my Granny’s cupboards.’

Miles frowned. ‘So it was a hoax?’

‘Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like a bomb, but nothing that would have harmed us or your DC.’

Chandler nodded numbly.

‘Kent’ll be glad to hear that he just almost shit his pants for no reason,’ Mansell piped up, turned away from the ambulance so Kent couldn’t hear him.

‘Forensics are dusting it for fingerprints, but I doubt you’ll get much.’

‘Anything else you can tell us about it?’

‘Not really. Everything they used you can get in a DIY store. Wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary for an electrician to buy, or someone rewiring an appliance. Lot of things for show on it. Nothing traceable, anyway.’

‘Cheers.’ Miles nodded and the man turned away to rejoin his team. Miles’ face was set in a grim line. ‘So someone wants to mess with the police for fun then?’

‘But why Kent?’

‘His luck, isn’t it. Wrong place, wrong bloody time.’ Both Miles and Chandler shot Mansell a look, and he had the decency to look slightly cowed.

‘Jesus, that’s more excitement than I like on a Wednesday evening,’ Riley said as she came up behind them, arms crossed in front of her.

‘Kent, okay?’

‘Paramedic said she’ll be over to talk to us in a minute.’ Riley sighed. ‘He’s pretty shaken up, though.’

‘He’s not the only one,’ Miles gruff voice piped in as he shoved his hands in his suit jacket pockets, clearly missing his overcoat. They stood around for a moment, stamping their feet, none of them making any move to get out of the rain or enquire if anything was being done regarding the investigation. Chandler was still mulling over what he had said, and the conversation he would no doubt have to have with Kent regarding it when this was all over.

‘DI Chandler?’

Chandler looked up at his name and caught Mansell and Riley having a conspiratorial conversation in facial expressions and mouthed words. Beyond them he could see the paramedic that was enquiring after him. ‘Yes?’ 

‘We’ve checked over Emerson now. He won’t go to the hospital, but he’s in severe shock. He needs someone to stay with him tonight, keep an eye on him.’

Chandler was sure that he heard three simultaneous agreements to look after Kent before the paramedic was chatting again.

‘He needs a quiet, familiar environment, so I’d suggest he stay at his own place with a friendly face.’

‘His flatmates are out of town for the weekend,’ Riley said softly, throwing a glance towards the back of the ambulance where Kent was staring into a Styrofoam cup of tea she had given him, clearly concentrating on holding onto it without spilling the contents rather than drinking it.

‘I’ll stay with him. You lot have got families to get back,’ Chandler said. It looked like all of them were going to protest, but Miles was the first to see sense, nodding his agreement. There was a look there though, that Chandler chose to ignore.

‘He’ll need to be interviewed first.’

‘You really think you’re going to get any sense out of him this evening?’ Miles scoffed. ‘Leave him until the morning, Joe. Unless he wants to talk.’

**

_We escorted DC Kent home where I monitored him for the evening. He was given three days leave before he returned to active duty._

‘Poor kid.’ John said as he closed the case file in his lap, placing it on the table next to his tea

‘You suffered the same ordeal.’ Sherlock was stood in the divide between kitchen and living room, regarding John.

‘Yeah, I did. Poor sod that I am too.’ John pulled himself to his feet, taking his mug with him. ‘But I doubt that he’s been out in Afghanistan.’

‘So because you fought for your country you feel you were better equipped to deal with the situation?’

John stopped where he had just turned the tap on and rolled up his sleeves to do the dishes. ‘No, Sherlock. No. Just leave it.’

There was a pause as John went back to doing the breakfast dishes, but he could feel Sherlock hovering behind him, like he wanted to clarify what John meant but was loathe to ask. A testament to how much their friendship had grown.

‘John.’

John turned, but his eyes kept going to Sherlock’s phone that was now vibrating along the tabletop in the kitchen. Sherlock pursed his lips, clearly annoyed at being interrupted, but he reached for it anyway.

‘What case can’t you solve on your own now?’

John returned to the mugs he was trying to scrub the tidemarks from, determined to finish before Sherlock dragged him out the door to another New Scotland Yard crime scene.

‘Loaning me out now, are you Detective Inspector?’

John’s ears pricked up. Maybe they weren’t going to NSY.

‘John and I will meet you there.’ Sherlock hung up and looked expectantly at John.

‘Case?’ John enquired.

‘Of a sort. We’re going to Whitechapel.’

‘Whitechapel? Sherlock you haven’t been pestering Lestrade for a word with that DC have you?’

‘I’m shocked that you would imply such a thing, John. But if we happen to run into the young DC while we’re there, thus facilitating a conversation about his recent kidnapping then all the better.’

John rolled his eyes, even as Sherlock was chucking his coat at him. There was no use in arguing with Sherlock when he set his mind to something, John would just have to try and stop Sherlock from being arrested. Maybe…


	2. Chapter 2

‘Hurry up, Emerson.’ Riley called from the doorway of the bakery. She had her hands shoved in her pockets, bouncing on the balls of her feet to try and keep out the cold. She was impatient as they’d hit another dead end in their current line of investigation. As was Kent, but he’d somehow managed to persuade her to stop off at the local bakery he knew to get some breakfast. It also gave him the opportunity to have a chat with Kelly, one of the girls who worked there, whom he was slowly plucking up the courage to ask out on a date.

Kent glanced briefly towards the door and turned back to smile shyly at Kelly, who was serving him. She was the daughter of the owner, and always had time for Emerson. Ever since he’d started going in there.

‘Friend?’ Kelly asked.

‘Yeah, sort of. I work with her.’ Kent cleared his throat. ‘We’re working on a case at the moment.’

Kelly smiled, reaching for a paper bag and digging into the pastry case in front of her. ‘Here. Have a couple of cream buns then for both of you.’

‘Oh.’ Kent didn’t know how to react. ‘Thanks. How much?’

‘They’re on me.’ She winked. ‘If you don’t eat them, I’ll have to.’ She smiled once more, before she looked over his shoulder at the person now queuing behind him.

‘Yes, what can I get you?’

Kent caught her eye again as he was leaving the shop, smiling. He was so engrossed in her that he almost walked straight into Riley.

‘Oi, you. Watch where you’re going will you.’ She took one of the paper bags from him.

‘Cream buns as well as bacon rolls. You really do know how to spoil a girl, Emerson.’ Riley winked, looking back towards the shop too. ‘Come on then,’ she said round a mouth full of cream bun. ‘Let’s get back before the boss wonders where we’ve gone.’

**

Joe looked up at the knock on his office door. Ray was peering round it with the same haggard look the rest of the team possessed since they’d started the case.

‘What is it Miles?’

‘Just thought you’d like to know Kent and Riley are on their way back from talking to Diane’s ex, and Grimm wants to tell us another horrific fairytale when they return.’

‘Grimm?’

‘As in Grimm fairytales.’ At Joe’s blank look, Miles sighed. ‘Never mind, Buchan’s got a silent horror film prepared for when they get back. I’ll go put the kettle on.’

Joe was still frowning in confusion as Ray shut the door behind himself and almost walked straight into Ed who was wrestling with the projection screen, the rest of the office refusing to help by ignoring him.

Chandler himself was at his wits end. They had two dead rich kids with no seeming link to one another. They’d thought that they’d been onto something when they’d discovered that Diane and Rachel had briefly frequented the same cocktail bar in Soho, but neither of them had been there at the same time, and apart from both of them occasionally drinking cosmopolitans that was where the similarity ended.

Chandler picked up his tiger balm and started rubbing at his temple. No links. No evidence. Nothing.

There was the sound of plastic hitting the concrete floor and Chandler looked up to see Ed had lost his battle with the projector screen that was now lying prostrate on the floor of the office. He also noticed that Kent and Riley were hanging their coats up. Chandler got to his feet as they both made their way towards his office.

‘Anything?’ Chandler asked as opened the door. Kent shook his head, lips pursed slightly.

‘Jimmy talks a good game, but he’s all bravado. They may have fought a lot but he never so much as raised a finger to her,’ Riley said, arms folded in front of her as Kent consulted his notepad, trying to decide if he had anything to add.

‘How do you know?’ Chandler was getting desperate and it was starting to shine through in his voice. ‘Just because he doesn’t have a history of violence, doesn’t mean he couldn’t snap at some point.’

‘He still lives with his mum,’ Kent said, looking up from his notepad.

‘That and he only has one arm so it would be almost impossible for him to restrain her the way she was.’

Well that was it then, another lead gone. Fuck all to go on.

‘If I may have your attention, lady and gents?’

There was almost a collective groan round the office as Kent switched out the lights, but Ed and the past that he was unearthing downstairs was their best hope at the moment so Chandler stood with his arms across his chest beside Miles’ desk as Ed started his dramatic revealing of the facts of crimes long past.

Chandler could already see that Mansell had switched off, was thinking of where he was going to get a pint from the minute they were done here. Miles was rolling his eyes, but listening, that was until his phone vibrated in his pocket and he had that out instead. Kent looked to be taking notes on everything Buchan was saying, but it was also quite possible that he was creating some elaborate flicker book. Riley was too busy reading over the case notes in front of her to listen to what Buchan had to say, preferring to rely on current facts rather than the musty ones Buchan had dredged up from somewhere. Chandler was so intent on what the rest of his team were doing that he was barely concentrating on what Ed was saying. He tuned back in.

‘This shows all the hallmarks of a fairly recent case, one that haunted the police through the 70’s and 80’’s.’ Ed was just getting to his dramatic dénouement when the lights in the office flicked back on, blinding most of them.

‘You do not have a copy cat killer on your hands, Mr. Buchan,’ a man said from where he was stood beside the light switch, taking his brief moment of inertia to remove his gloves. ‘Fred and Rosemary West are not haunting us all from beyond the grave.’

Ed stuttered for a moment. ‘But the bodies and where they’re found-’

‘Point to nothing more than the killers ineptitude to hide bodies, or more likely is the fact that they wish to be found out, they wish the bodies to be discovered which is why they have presented them in such a way to us.’

‘I’m sorry, who are you?’ Chandler piped up, taking a step forward towards the stranger.

‘Sherlock!’ The door into the incident room banged open revealing two other men, another he had never laid eyes on before, and the second, which Ray seemed to recognise instantly.

‘Bloody hell, if it isn’t Greg Lestrade. How the hell are you?’ Ray was moving forward a hand held out to shake Lestrade’s. They shared a moment of knowing camaraderie, which said they had been through things together, and seen things before. If Chandler was to make a guess he would say that they were roughly the same age, which suggested they’d maybe worked their way up the ranks together.

‘Is this him then?’ Ray said, cocking a thumb at Sherlock who was already shifting through the case files, eyes roaming over the whiteboard that Chandler was now trying to move in front, feeling somewhat protective of his evidence.

‘Aye, this is him.’

‘Miles, what’s going on?’ Chandler asked as he put a hand on top of some case notes that Sherlock was trying to go for.

Miles turned at the sound of his name, smirking slightly. ‘Look Joe, we’ve hit a dead end with this so I called in a favour from my friend here, DI Lestrade. He said he couldn’t be of help, but he had a man for the job.’

‘Sherlock Holmes.’ Sherlock introduced himself, casting his eyes round the office as if hunting down something. ‘Now where’s your mortuary?’

‘Sherlock.’ The other man who had yet to be introduced, warned.

‘He’s the best I’ve got to offer, I’m afraid,’ Lestrade continued as if Sherlock hadn’t said anything.

‘But he’s not police?’ Chandler enquired.

‘No, he’s a private detective.’

‘Consulting.’ Sherlock corrected.

‘Consulting detective.’ Lestrade said quickly before turning to introduce the second man. ‘This is John Watson. He’s also happy to help you with your investigation.’

Lestrade’s phone was ringing and he turned away to answer it. Chandler was shaking Watson’s hand absentmindedly. Miles was looking at him as if to say he didn’t like this anymore than Chandler did, but needs must.

‘Right, well. I suppose we should go over the case notes then.’

‘You can fill me in with anything I’ve missed on the way to the mortuary, DI Chandler,’ Sherlock said, as he swirled dramatically away from the whiteboard.

‘Look I’ve got to go.’ Lestrade said, hanging up his phone. ‘Sherlock behave, please.’

Sherlock gave Lestrade a withering look before he disappeared out the room, clearly intent on finding the mortuary alone since no one would show him.

‘Miles, I’ll see you for a pint when this is all over.’ Miles nodded as he shook Lestrade’s hand before they both followed Sherlock out the room. It was at that moment that Sherlock stuck his head back round the door.

‘John.’

John seemed to stutter into life again, moving after Sherlock as Chandler’s brain finally caught up, haring after the both of them.

‘Now, hang on a minute.’

Chandler caught up to Sherlock at the top of the stairs.

‘Mr. Holmes, I appreciate your offer of help, but this is still my investigation and still my team. You cannot just waltz around the station as you see fit.’

Sherlock stopped half way down the stairs and turned to face Chandler. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m here to help you. All that matters to me is the case, and if the best you have to go on is Mr Buchan’s half-baked ideas of Fred and Rosemary West coming back to haunt you from beyond the grave then you need me.’

‘Now, just a minute sunshine!’ Miles bristled.

‘Sherlock,’ John warned. Sherlock barely spared him a glance.

‘Now, are you going to show me where you mortuary is or do you wish to pitch the idea of Fred and Rosemary West to your Superintendent?’

There was a tense silence on the stairs as Miles and Chandler seemed to consider their options and John squared his shoulders as if expecting a fight to erupt. He hadn’t quite made his mind up as the whether he was going to stop DS Miles from punching Sherlock or not should it happen when Chandler took a step forward and John flexed his right hand.

‘This way.’ Chandler said before starting off down the stairs again, Sherlock close on his heels.

‘Not get enough of a looky loo the first time you were down here boys?’ Caroline Llewellyn said as she pulled the gloves she was wearing off and waddled towards them where they were stood by the door.

‘Dr. Llewellyn, this is Mr Holmes. He and Mr. Watson will be assisting us on this case.’ Chandler introduced them, as Sherlock tried to push past him into the morgue. Caroline put out a hand to stop Sherlock before he went any further.

‘Slow down, cheekbones. You want in, you change your shoes, Mister. And you leave that sheep shedding coat behind too.’ Sherlock gave an overly dramatic sigh but did as he was told.

‘Doctor Watson,’ John said as he shook hands with Caroline. ‘Although you can just call me John.’

‘Can I now?’ She smiled at him before turning back to the body, Holmes was examining.

‘Cause of death is pretty apparent.’ Caroline started as she moved towards him, rubbing her pregnant belly.

‘We’re looking for more than one killer.’ Sherlock announced.

‘We’re what?’

Sherlock sighed dramatically. ‘Serial killers develop a pattern. They escalate their killings with each victim. There is no distinct pattern to these killings.’

‘I would have thought suicide was a pattern,’ Miles said gruffly.

‘John.’ Sherlock nodded towards the body, ignoring Miles. ‘John.’ Sherlock nodded towards the body. John gestured at the body, looking towards Caroline before he made a move.

‘Be my guest,’ she offered, hauling herself up onto the stool at the end of her workbench. John leant over the body slightly, inspecting closer the discolouration of the victims lips.

‘Bruising around the trachea as while is cyanosis round the mouth and nose which would suggest strangulation. Fractured C2. Most definitely hung.’

‘I suggest you start looking into gangs and drug dens in the local area.’ Sherlock was already turning towards the exit.

‘Gang wars? How on earth have you got to gang wars from this?’

‘Obvious, isn’t it?’

Sherlock sighed. ‘Different weapon used with each killing. A knife, a gun, a rope-’

‘Hang on, we’ve only got two bodies.’

‘You’re missing one. Kingsley Jones. Member of Christchurch College in Oxford, studying Classics and Oriental Studies. Was found in at a friend's in a bath of his own blood in Spitalfields last week. Barely made the papers.’

‘That sounds like suicide.’

‘As did the other two, yet you seem to have already ruled them out as suicide too, and if Mr Buchan's presentation is anything to go by, jumped straight to the misguided thought of a serial killing couple.’ John could see Sherlock was trying very hard not to roll his eyes in annoyance, instead he went for scathing sarcasm.

‘You might want to get to him before the funeral tomorrow. I fear it’ll be much harder to get an exhumation order.’

Miles and Chandler were stunned into silence long enough to allow Sherlock to bid them farewell with that insufferable smugness of his.

‘I need to go and have a word with some of my contacts so I shall leave you with my best man.’ Sherlock clapped John on the shoulder before he turned and whirled out of the mortuary. John tried to give a reassuring smile.

‘Sherlock.’ John called, stepping out of the mortuary after Sherlock. His stride didn’t falter as John hurried to catch up with him.

‘I won’t do it.’

‘Won’t do what?’

‘You want me to stay behind to talk to Kent about Moriarty, and I’m not going to do. We’re here to help on another case. This isn’t about Moriarty.’

Sherlock hesitated. ‘I want you to stay behind to be my eyes and ears. They don’t trust us. You have the grand gift of silence, John. Use it to your advantage.’

And with that Sherlock was gone. John let out a long low sigh. He knew Sherlock’s game, and even though he’d protested John knew that eventually he’d end up being a part of it. As he always did.

As John turned to go back into the morgue he caught sight of someone loitering at the end of the corridor, trying to stay out of sight. For a moment he thought it was Sherlock with the mop of dark curly hair atop his wiry frame, but the silhouette was too short.

He was about to call out to the figure when Chandler and Miles emerged out of the morgue, startling him.

‘Ah, Doctor Watson.’ John could tell that Chandler was trying to force politeness into his voice, but was uncomfortable with the whole situation. ‘Let’s head back upstairs and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team, and then perhaps you could give Ed a hand with some of his research?’

John nodded, gesturing for him to lead on. ‘Anywhere I can be of help.’ John found himself consciously straightening his back and putting his shoulders back before he followed the two down the corridor. He glanced down the corridor the shadow of a person had been lurking hoping to see them distantly at the other end, but the corridor was deserted.


	3. Chapter 3

‘Ed.’

Buchan turned at the call of his name to find Joe walking towards him, Ray and the newcomer with the rude friend in tow.

‘Ed, this is John Watson. He’ll be happy to help you your research for the case.’

Ed automatically stuck out his hand out of politeness and Chandler moved away, fleeing the inevitable questions already bubbling up within Ed.

‘Kent.’

Kent looked up so quickly, Chandler suspected whiplash. ‘Sir?’

‘I need you and Mansell to get a requisition for Kingsley Jones’ body before the funeral tomorrow.’

Kent’s brow furrowed. ‘Who, Sir?’

‘Kingsley Jones. He was found in a bath in Spitalfields last week. Made to look like suicide. He’s our third victim.’

Kent opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Chandler had already disappeared inside his office.

Miles shut the office door behind him as Chandler turned to face Miles, clearly concerned.

‘I don’t like it, Miles.’

‘Neither do I, but he’s already given us more to go on than we previously had and that was just in the ten minutes he’s been on the case.’

‘But we don’t know he’s right. It’s just all conjecture on his part. There’s nothing concrete to confirm it.’

'Well the lads will go to fetch this supposed third victim. That'll either confirm that he's right or-'

'Or we'll be called into question for inept police work.'

Chandler was pacing his office now as Miles moved off to the side, mainly to get out of the way but also to stop himself from starting to pace too. He was just as concerned as the boss, he just didn't want to show it.

‘Lestrade says he’s good,’ Miles said, trying to sound reassuring.

‘I don’t even know who this Lestrade is, Miles.’

‘No, but I do, and he’s a good officer. And a good man. I trust him. And so should you.’

‘I trust you, Miles.’ Chandler said, staring out into the incident room where Riley was shaking hands with Watson as Kent and Mansell grabbed their coats. He caught Kent looking back at Watson, an uncertain look on his face and Chandler suddenly realised where he’d heard the name Sherlock Holmes before.

**

**The Day of the Attempted Bombings…**   


Chandler wasn’t sure what he expected when he took Kent home after the incident at Billingsgate. He knew Kent lived in a shared flat, but if there were other people currently occupying the space, Chandler found no trace of them.

‘You don’t have to stay, Sir.’

‘Kitchen this way, is it?’ Chandler asked, pulling his coat off as he went, folding it neatly over the back of a kitchen chair before he set the kettle to boil. He was surprised to find Kent didn’t follow him, but instead left him to his own devices as he set about finding mugs and teabags, the only thing out of place in the kitchen was a teaspoon on the draining board.

When the tea was made, Chandler headed back down the hall towards the living room, glad to find Kent had made it that war. He wasn’t sitting down though, he hadn’t divested himself of Miles’ coat or his shoes, he was just stood there swaying, looking at the blank television screen.

‘Kent.’ Chandler sought out two coasters for the mugs of tea he was carrying before he spoke again. ‘Kent?’

He reached out a hand. ‘Emerson?’

Kent flinched at both his given name and the hand on his arm, blinking rapidly as if he’d just woken from a bad dream.

‘Come on, sit down and have some tea.’

It took a moment before Kent seemed to stutter into life again, sitting down on his own sofa with some hesitation as Chandler turned the handle of the nearest mug towards him. Kent looked at it for a long moment before he reached out a hand to pick it up. He stared at the surface of milky brown liquid in a novelty mug from the London dungeons as Chandler looked round the living room.

‘Miles has fish.’

‘What?’ Kent looked up from his mug of tea that he was cradling close to his chest. Chandler was stood on the other side of the room, looking at the contents of Kent’s shelves.

‘He has coy carp in his back garden that he feeds when he gets stressed.’

‘I don’t follow, Sir.’

It was the first sentence all evening that Kent hadn’t stuttered over or thought about for a very long time before voicing it. Chandler smiled slightly, turning around with one of the DVDs from Kent’s alphabetised collection.

‘I assume these are your fish?’

Chandler was holding up one of many Carry On films that adorned Kent’s shelves. Kent let a shy smile pass his lips.

‘My Dad and I used to watch them when I was a kid. Erica didn’t get it, but they made me laugh.’

‘We could watch one just now,' Chandler offered. ‘Take your mind off things.’

Kent seemed to consider this for a long time, before he nodded.

Kent’s adrenaline crash hit him hard. He fell asleep at the end of the sofa half way into the film, and Chandler placed a blanket over him, which he assumed belonged to one of the girls of the house if the garish flower pattern was anything to go by. His phone chose that moment to start vibrating in his jacket pocket.

‘Miles?’

‘How’s Kent?’

‘Asleep now.’

‘Good. Lad probably needs it. Make sure you tell him he brings my coat back in one piece.’ 

Chandler smiled almost fondly as he glanced at Kent, still wearing Miles’ coat and knew the slight dig was Miles’ way of showing concern for Kent. ‘I will.’

‘I thought I’d call and give you an update on last night’s attempted bombing.’ There was a pause, a hitch in Miles breath where canned laughter filled the living room and Chandler caught sight of the clock on the wall that declared it was fourteen minutes past three in the morning. ‘Scotland Yard have told us to leave it alone.’

‘Leave it alone?’ Chandler all but shouted, before lowering his voice and moving into the hall as Kent shifted in his sleep. ‘One of my officers was almost blown sky high and they want me to leave it alone?’

‘They say they’ve tied it to an investigation that’s already under way involving attempted bombings that have been going on all over London for the last week. They said because the incident at Billingsgate Market was a hoax, its not top priority. The whole thing culminated in a swimming pool a few hours ago with another attempted bombing. They’ve identified the person behind it all as a James Moriarty, but it’s all circumstantial and they can’t track him down.’

‘Then how do they know?’

‘Apparently a private dick has been working with Scotland Yard on the case, Holmes I think his name was. Posh first name. Sherlock, I think. Obviously a private school kid. Anyway, he was at the pool, saw this Moriarty with his own two eyes.’ 

‘So that’s it then?’

‘It’s been turned into an ongoing investigation. One of them will be round in the morning to take a statement from Kent, just so you can pre-warn him.’

‘I will do. Thanks, Miles.’ Chandler sighed. He was annoyed, but there was nothing more that they could do tonight. Chandler was starting to feel his own adrenaline crash. ‘Go home and get some sleep.’

‘Already there, just thought I’d keep you in the loop.’

‘Thank you. I’ll see you later on today.’

He hung up on Miles and spent a moment just breathing in the hallway. He was angry that Scotland Yard had taken this away from his team, but at the same time he wanted to put this whole sorry mess behind him.

When Chandler emerged back into the living room, he was surprised to find Kent awake. He’d untangled himself from the blanket, divested himself of Miles’ coat and was sat with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands, sweat starting to show through the back of his shirt.

‘Kent?’

Kent flinched, but didn’t uncover his face. Chandler decided to give him a minute, disappearing into the kitchen to make another cup of tea for them both, finding Scotch instead. When he returned, Kent had recovered enough to be tugging his shoes off his feet. Chandler didn’t fail to notice the bloodshot eyes and the slight tremor in his hands as Chandler set two tumblers half full of whiskey down on the coffee table.

‘Thanks.’

Chandler averted his eyes as Kent reached for the glass, clenched his fist to try and stop his hand from shaking before using both hands to pick up the glass. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, Chandler noting the tremors wracking Kent’s body, his hair now limp against his forehead, sweat trickling down the nape of his neck, both of them completely oblivious to the television that was now playing the title screen on repeat.

‘I’m sorry about your shoes.’

Chandler laughed, a proper belly chuckle that even caused Emerson to crack a smile.

‘I’d forgotten about them.’ Chandler said, looking down at his shoes that were still splattered with Kent’s vomit. He had the urge to clean them, but not as overwhelmingly strong as it would normally be. He could cope for now. 

‘Did you mean what you said?’

Chandler frowned, swallowing a mouthful of whiskey before he replied. ‘Sorry?’

Kent took his own mouthful before he spoke again. Dutch courage possibly. ‘At Billingsgate? Did you mean what you said about me?’

Chandler’s heart stuttered in panic, thinking back on what had been said in the heat of the moment.

‘You said-‘ Kent swallowed. ‘You said that I reminded you of yourself, but you wanted me to be better than you, knew that I’d be better than you.’

‘Emerson, I’ve been known to say things when panicked, that I don’t necessarily mean, but in this instance, yes. I meant what I said.’

**

‘Joe, can I have a word?’

Joe looked up from organising his desk - trying to distract himself from that night - to find Ed peering round his office door, a crease of annoyance on his brow. He knew what was coming, and as much as he was loathe to deal with it right now, he nodded anyway.

Ed came into the room and shut the door behind him before he started somewhat hesitantly.

‘I really wish you’d told me that you were bringing in more people to consult on this case. For one thing, it’s crowded enough down there without someone else trying to be helpful and messing up my system.’

‘Look, Ed. We’ve hit a dead end, and I can use all the extra help I can get. Surely you’re grateful to have an extra pair of eyes to help you look through the files.’

‘Well I don’t deny that an extra pair of hands is useful, and Doctors’ do make excellent researchers, but that’s beside the point, Joe. You can’t deny that the reason you’ve given him to me is to keep him out of the way of your own investigation because you don’t trust him or his partner, Mr. Holmes, who is frankly the most rude gentleman I have ever had the misfortune to come across.’

‘Ed, please, can you just make the best out of a bad situation and accept the help gratefully, as I am struggling to do, too.’

Ed sighed, rather over dramatically, before leaving his parting shot. ‘I suppose we all have our crosses to bear.’

Sometimes all Ed needed was a chance to complain before he went away happily to continue with his day. Ed would probably enjoy having someone to boss around for the next few days and help him with research in the basement, and frankly the rest of the team would probably be grateful that they wouldn’t be at Ed’s beck and call in the musty stacks, breathing in dust from case files long forgotten. Chandler let out a long breath and got up to head towards the bathroom. He needed to wash his hands.

**

‘Well that could have gone better.’ Mansell grumbled as he rubbed at his reddened left cheek.

‘You could have been a bit more,’ Kent searched for the right word. ‘Compassionate.’

‘I was compassionate!’ Mansell protested as they both watched the police coroners van taking the body of Kingsley Jones out of the coffin and putting him back into a body bag.

‘I think his mother disagreed with you.’

‘Yeah, I got that, smart arse.’ Mansell glared at Kent as he got in on the drivers side of the car. He could see Mrs Jones’ glaring at him from the doorway of the funeral directors. What annoyed Mansell the most was the fact that Kent was right, he probably could have been a bit more compassionate when it came to demanding the body of her dead son, but as usual he’d been trying to show off in front of Kent. Maybe he should have let Kent take the lead and he would have a smarting cheek now instead of Mansell.

**

‘Well, it’s not suicide.’ Caroline Llewellyn said as she snapped off a pair of neoprene gloves, depositing them in the hazardous waste bin.

Chandler looked unsure, but accepting. ‘So Holmes was right then?’

‘It would appear so.’ Caroline was writing on the post-mortem report now as she talked Miles and Chandler through the facts. ‘The ligature marks correspond with the bed sheet that was found round his neck, but the angle of the marks aren’t congruent with that of hanging. There’s evidence that he was dragged after he was strangled, suggesting he was hung post mortem.’

_Like John_ , Miles thought and felt a little bit sick. He looked away from the body, not normally one to feel squeamish but it was too soon to not be at the forefront of his mind in this kind of murder.

‘Why wasn’t this picked up earlier?’ Chandler asked, confused.

‘No one had any reason to think it was anything but suicide with Kingsley’s history of self harm and mental health issues.’ Caroline handed over the files to Chandler that she’d acquired from Kingsley’s therapist at Oxford University.

Miles peered over the files as Chandler quickly leafed through them. ‘So no one ever looked any further?’

Caroline looked grim. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

Chandler was frowning.

‘Maybe we should call Holmes?’ Miles suggested, which only deepened Chandler’s frown.


End file.
